For Elise by Sarah M. Eden

She did not return the gesture. He hadn’t expected her to. Being patient was difficult, but the closer he looked, the more pain he saw. She might have been lashing out with anger, but he felt certain the root of it was a deep misery.
    “What type of book are you looking for?” he asked, careful to keep his tone casual.
    “I’m not sure.” He heard uncertainty in her voice, perhaps a hint of embarrassment. “I’ve not read a book since . . .” Her voice trailed off, but Miles knew what she’d been speaking of. She hadn’t read a book in all the years she’d been gone.
    “Come, now.” Miles motioned her farther inside but kept his distance. “I have perused this vast collection a bit since my arrival at Christmastime. There are books on gardening, astronomy, mythology.” Miles allowed a teasing smile to touch his lips as he looked down at her once more. “I do believe I even saw a few selections from the Minerva Press.”
    “I do not think Gothic novels would be the best way to return to the world of literature.” More lightness touched her tone than he’d yet heard, and now that he thought on it, her accent had improved a bit as well.
    When had that changed? That was a good omen, was it not?
    Slow and steady , he reminded himself. “I seem to remember you had a fondness for Robin Hood ,” Miles said.
    “Yes.” Her tone remained extremely guarded.
    “There is a very fine edition of that tale in this library.” He crossed to where the book sat. “My cousin, whose father was the late Marquess of Grenton, is named Marion. I believe the Robin Hood legend was a favorite of that branch of the Linwood family.”
    “She, no doubt, was actually permitted to be Maid Marion during her childhood.” Did he hear the slightest hint of a smile in her tone? “I, on the other hand, was never given that role.”
    Miles remembered those episodes well. Robin Hood had been one of their favorite games as children, though Beth had insisted she be the ever-suffering Marion. “You made an admirable Little John though.”
    “That I did.” Had she actually just laughed, even the tiniest bit? How he hoped so! “I doubt there was a finer Little John in all of England,” she said.
    “Although I doubt the original Little John ever tied Maid Marion to a tree stump.”
    “It was my turn,” Elise said. “Beth promised I could be Maid Marion and then wouldn’t let me. I really had no choice.”
    Miles felt the need to tiptoe through this conversation. Elise was less hostile, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that couldn’t change in an instant. “And we wondered why Beth quit playing with us.” Miles pretended to be confused.
    “We were a couple of savages, weren’t we?” A look of longing crossed Elise’s face. Longing was decidedly a step in the right direction.
    “And now I am a marquess. Makes me wonder if the peerage is doomed.” His jovial quip seemed to miss its mark.
    Before his eyes, she pulled back into herself. She was unreachable again. Her expression was nearly blank, her gaze lowered.
    Miles realized in that moment why her now-characteristic stance—drawn expression, lowered head, quiet, respectful tone—struck him as oddly familiar. Elise could not possibly have looked more like the countless women scattered throughout England who were weighed down by the struggle to feed their families, to earn their bread, to simply survive.
    He crossed to where Elise stood and held the illustrated Robin Hood out to her. “Anne will enjoy the pictures, I daresay.” He studied her with growing concern. The moment of camaraderie had disappeared too quickly. Like a flash of lightning, it had existed for only a moment before leaving them in the dark once more.
    He’d let himself hope Elise would return to herself once their journey was complete and she was no longer confined to the carriage. He’d thought to see more of her old personality emerge. But the Elise he remembered had yet to make an